Naughty
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, ZA. Post Season 10. One thing was for sure, she'd been very naughty that year.


**AN: The bad influences helped me out with this one.**

**So, there's a smut warning on this one.**

**And I don't own anything from the Walking Dead.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Ho, ho, ho," Daryl barked into the mirror. He laughed when Carol laughed from her place inside the closet. "Ho, ho, ho," he repeated.

Carol stepped out of the closet and straightened the red velvet dress she'd just slipped on.

"Well?" She asked.

Daryl stared at her.

"What happened to the one I brought you?" He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"The one you brought me was a novelty costume, Daryl," Carol said. "And it was not suitable for children. We want this to be fun for the kids. We don't want this to scar them forever. Now, what do you think?"

"You look like you always look," Daryl said. "Beautiful."

Carol smiled to herself.

She didn't know if it had been six months, even, since Alpha's head had been parted from her body. Her reign of terror was over, though, and everyone was trying to get back to their lives. In the attempt to straighten out the madness around them, somehow, Daryl had confessed his love for Carol. And, finally knowing that it was safe, and that Daryl was ready to hear the truth, Carol had confessed her love for Daryl.

In the time since they'd been together, Daryl had gone from being the bashful and bumbling virgin that had clumsily fucked her the first night after his practically spat confession of love, to being someone who was much more skilled, but still every bit as hungry as he had been.

Daryl had a lot of time to make up for and, at the moment, he had the desire of a teenaged boy, even if he was being chosen to play Santa Clause for the entertainment of the children.

The children—Judith, RJ, and Lydia.

Daryl and Carol had, in the same whirlwind of becoming lovers and, beyond that, dedicated partners, become the proud parents of a teenager who had almost missed her entire childhood. The dressing up as Mr. and Mrs. Clause for the Alexandria Christmas party was as much for Lydia as it was for the little ones, and she would be thrilled to see her parents as the wholesome Christmas couple.

Behind the scenes, though, Carol knew that, in the costumes Daryl found and brought back from a run, there was a Mrs. Clause costume that was far less than wholesome—and that was the one he wished she was wearing. The dress she'd chosen for tonight was, although not frumpy in the least, much more tasteful.

Mr. Clause, at the moment, though, was wearing nothing more than a hat, his beard, and his red boxers.

"How do I look?" Daryl asked.

"Like a skinny, naked Santa," Carol teased. "Where's the rest of your outfit? We really need to fatten you up."

"We got like an hour or more," Daryl said. "And Michonne's entertainin' the kids. Ain't nobody in the house but us."

"Are you going somewhere with this? Santa?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself and took off his beard. He put it on the dresser, in front of the mirror he'd been practicing in. He smirked at her and dropped his hand, slipping it into his boxers. Without any apology at all, he stroked himself as he walked toward her.

The absolute relief of finally being able to be honest about her feelings about Daryl had been overwhelming. Her body craved him. She was convinced that he'd do anything for her—anything at all—and he'd proven that more than once. She, too, would do anything for him.

And she was enjoying everything he'd awakened in her. Everything that Ed had once tried to kill. Everything she'd been convinced was truly dead until Daryl's touch had brought it back to life.

The sight of him stroking himself made her throb. She could feel herself already preparing for him. She was embarrassed, honestly, by the reactions that she had to him, but Daryl hadn't shamed her for anything. He hadn't shamed her for her desires or her curiosities. He hadn't shamed her for any of the things she was still afraid to try or any of the things that she allowed him to explore with her.

"I was kinda hopin' Mrs. Clause might wanna…ya know. Be my ho, ho, ho." He reached for her, and she allowed him to pull her to him. She accepted his kiss. She enjoyed his roaming hands. "Might even work on fattenin' you up a little," he said.

Carol smiled against his lips. She'd told him that if it were possible at all, and if they were granted such a thing, she would gladly have his child. She couldn't believe herself when she'd heard herself confessing it. But it was true. As much as she'd lost—as much as she feared losing—she would try it again with Daryl. She would be Lydia's mother and, if they were so blessed, she would bring a Dixon into the world with piss and vinegar running through its veins as Daryl teased it would have.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," Carol breathed against his lips.

"Christmas miracles," Daryl responded. "But a helluva lot of fun tryin' either way, huh?"

"I don't want to mess up my dress," Carol said.

"Only one way I know to solve that problem, Carol," Daryl said. "Get rid of it, woman."

Carol smiled to herself. She unzipped the dress as far as she could—and as far as she needed. She shimmied out of it and Daryl gave her the distance she needed to put the dress carefully away. She slipped out of her panties, too, not trying to pretend that she didn't know what was happening.

When Daryl returned from having given her a bit of space, he had stripped off everything he was wearing. He also brought the belts out of both their bathrobes.

"What are those for?" Carol asked.

"Santa's been watchin' your ass," Daryl said. "Knows what you been doin'. You straight up on the naughty list. Runnin' the man that loves you ragged. Worryin' him half to death."

Carol bit the inside of her cheeks. Her face burned from trying to hold back her amusement. She could feel the dampness on the inside of her thighs and she didn't want to tell him that just his expression and the intention behind his words was making her practically drip with anticipation.

"I have been pretty bad," she offered.

"You have," Daryl agreed, nodding his head.

"Does that mean I get nothing but coal for Christmas?" Carol asked.

Daryl smiled quickly, but swallowed the smile down again.

"You gettin' more'n coal," he said. "I'ma give you a whole not more'n coal. And—I think you gotta be punished."

Carol's heart thundered in her chest. Anyone else and such a thought would be terrifying. But she trusted Daryl and she already knew that whatever he had in mind—whatever it might be—she would enjoy it.

"I better be," Carol said. "Just—so I'm not as naughty next year."

Daryl returned to her and kissed her. He backed her up to the bed and, when they got there, Carol helped him out by climbing onto the bed herself. She offered him her wrist and waited patiently as he tied one belt around it and then tied it to the back of the bed.

"Restraints?" Carol asked.

"Gotta keep your ass under control," Daryl said. "Know how you are about slippin' away."

Carol laughed to herself. The thrill that rushed through her made her heart pound, but she knew, without a doubt, that she could pull the belt loose. Daryl had barely tied it as more than a suggestion. It was for decoration more than anything. She let him tie the other and then she looped her hands around the bars of the headboard because she knew that any real tugging would drop her restraints—and, for now, she wanted them.

Daryl kissed her, hard, and she pulled away to bite his lip. He growled at her.

"You're bein' bad again," he said. She moved, wrapping her legs around him, to pull him closer to her.

"You should probably punish me," she said, barely swallowing back the smile that escaped her against her will.

"What's the word?" Daryl asked.

The pounding of Carol's heart slowed just a little with the reminder that Daryl was, above anything else, the man that she loved. He was a man that respected her. He worshipped her in a way that she could never imagine.

And he gave her exactly what she needed. Exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she allowed.

But he took nothing more.

"Mistletoe," Carol said.

Daryl broke character for a moment to look at her with a smirk.

"Mistletoe?" He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"It's festive," she offered. "And you weren't planning on using it, were you?"

"No," Daryl said. "No—I weren't gonna use it. Mistletoe it is."

"Good," Carol said. "Now—I think you were punishing me. Because I've been pretty fucking bad this year, Santa."

"Real fuckin' bad," Daryl growled, dropping back into character.

Daryl responded by moving down her body and, in what was becoming a familiar practice, left a trail of bites along her skin. Each of them got a little harder. Each of them drove Carol a little crazier as he sunk his teeth into her. He would continue—testing the waters—until she used the word that they'd chosen. He'd persevere through yelping, and through crying out, but he'd stop at even the slightest attempt to say the word they'd chosen.

She let him go on for a while. Each bite coincided with the hungry throbbing of her body requesting his presence.

"You feel repentant?" Daryl asked after Carol barked at him for a particularly hard bite to the tender skin inside her thigh.

She panted at him. He responded much the same. He was suffering, and she knew it. She was making him wait by making him tease her for so long.

"Maybe you ought to spank me," Carol breathed out. Daryl came back and kissed her hard. His fingertips dug into her thighs as he held her. He was ready to enter her. He wanted to be inside her. She could practically feel him buzzing with desperation. She liked making him wait, sometimes. In the beginning it had made the sex too quick. Now, he'd built up stamina so that making him wait just meant that he went harder and more desperately after what he wanted. She liked that, sometimes. She begged him, sometimes, for the rough fucking that seemed to come only from his desperation.

"I can't," Daryl said as he pulled out of the kiss. He was practically panting into her mouth. "I can't—I can't do that. Not yet."

"It's OK," Carol said. "I'll say mistletoe if I mean it. You could spank me a little." Daryl bit her lip in response and groaned at her.

"Mistletoe," he said. "Mistletoe. I can't. I'm sorry. I can't yet…I'm not gonna hit you."

"Shhh," Carol said quickly. "It's OK. It's OK. You don't have to spank me. Not tonight. Maybe later. And if you don't—you don't, OK?"

Daryl butted her gently and affectionately with his head. He rubbed his face against hers. The kiss he requested was soft and she filled his request before he looked at her again and nodded. She smiled at him.

"Keep going?" She asked.

"I ain't gonna hurt you, OK?" He said.

"Maybe I'd like it if you hurt me just a little," Carol offered. "After all—I'm supposed to be Santa's ho, ho, ho, right?" She winked at him and Daryl laughed quietly. Carol echoed it before she forced herself to return to the more serious persona that she'd been working to enact. "Fuck me hard, Daryl?"

She knew he'd comply with her wishes as soon as he moved to put the extra pillow they kept in the bed between the wall and the headboard. Carol hummed to herself with anticipation as Daryl rearranged her—having full control of nearly everything as long as she held to the bars of the headboard instead of using her hands.

To further make it clear that he intended to comply with her wishes, Daryl adjusted his own body and entered her—fast and completely—until he bumped against her cervix. She opened her mouth in response and he swallowed the sound with his own mouth.

"Love you," he said, kissing the side of her mouth.

"Love you," Carol echoed.

There was very little time or air for talking between them. As she requested, Daryl chose a punishing speed and force. The pillow saved the wall behind the bed and, in the case that anybody else happened to come into the house, it saved them from the undeniable knowledge of what was taking place in the bedroom. The noises that Carol made, though, and those that escaped Daryl were enough to leave most anyone guessing that something was going on in the bedroom—and it wasn't practice for the Christmas party.

Carol came hard and Daryl came a few solid thrusts later, panting and kissing at her skin as he practically collapsed on top of her.

The game over, Carol tugged her restraints free and brought her hands down to touch the man she loved. She rubbed at his face and nuzzled him until the afterglow faded for both of them and their breathing began to steady out.

"Love you," Daryl breathed out.

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"Love you," she said. "That was incredible."

"You feelin' like you learned your lesson?" Daryl asked.

Carol hummed.

"Maybe," she said.

Daryl pulled away to get up. She knew why. They had to get ready for the Christmas party. They didn't want to disappoint the children—Lydia most of all. Carol didn't make him say anything, she simply followed after him to their ensuite bathroom to wash up.

"Nice enough to at least be Mrs. Clause for the kids?"

"Oh, plenty nice enough for that," Carol said. "But—I can't say that all the naughty's out of my system."

Daryl laughed at her and pulled her to him for one more kiss before they got cleaned up to meet their obligations.

"Woman—I wouldn't have you any other way."


End file.
